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“Why?”
“Because you’d touch me. You’d want me.”
“That means these nipples belong to me, don’t they?” He squeezes one roughly, sternly, and I whimper, but it breaks into a moan when he cups my core just as hard. “This pussy is mine, too. It’s my pussy, isn’t it?”
“Oh, fuck…”
“Language.”
“Mmm.”
“Answer me, Gwyneth. Whose pussy is this?”
“Yours.”
“That’s right. Mine. So why did you give it to someone else? Why did another fucker look at my pussy, let alone touch it?”
God. If he keeps talking this dirty, I might come here and now.
“Because you weren’t there…you weren’t touching me, so I had to let the boys do it, but you know what?”
“What?” He’s pulling my panties down my legs, and I don’t focus on the trail of wetness that’s coating my thighs. I don’t focus on how shamelessly I’m drenching his fingers, because I’m preoccupied with something else.
His face holds me hostage. His beautiful, ethereal face that’s been stealing my dreams since I started seeing him as a man.
I drop my voice, staring at him from beneath my lashes. “I was thinking about you the whole time they were touching me. I imagined your fingers inside me and your tongue licking me. Your hands were on me too, and they were so powerful and masculine that I can’t stop thinking about them.”
He pauses with my panties in his hand, his eyes turning a raging shade of delicious brown. “Fuck. You’ll be the death of me.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“It’s a fucking disaster.”
“Will I pay for that too?”
“You fucking will.” He lets go of my nipple and I release a noisy, disappointed sound at the loss of contact.
But I don’t have to wait on his next move for long, because he stuffs my panties in his pocket—again—and pulls my legs wide, wider than I thought was possible while my feet are still planted on his desk. And then he yanks the hem of my skirt up and jams it in my mouth. “Bite and don’t let go.”
I do, my teeth digging into the black material, but I don’t realize why he’s telling me not to let go until he lowers his head.
Until his mouth is on my throbbing pussy. And holy shit, if I thought his fingers were weapons of mass pleasure, his mouth is in an entirely different league.
He laps his tongue over my wet folds, making them wetter, sloppier, and my head rolls so far back, I’m surprised it doesn’t snap my neck. The pleasure is so damn strong that I can’t focus on anything except for where his body meets mine.
Where he’s closing his mouth on me and suckinghard. So hard that I’m shaking all over, so hard that I think he’s exorcising my soul.
The skirt falls from my teeth. I can’t help it. It just does. “Holy…shit…fuck…”
“What did I say about language?” He speaks against me and it’s like a rumble on my oversensitive skin.
“I can’t…can’t control it.”
“Because you’re close?”
“Yeah.” And because it’s him. But I don’t get to say that, because he sucks on something else.
My clit.
